Madness Combat: Lost Track Memories
by DodgeStreaker
Summary: He's a killer, that's all there is to it. But even though he's still who he is now doesn't mean at all that he didn't have a past, but forget the past all he needs is one thing, and that's all he cares about - Disclaimer: Madness Combat (c) Krinkels


He gazed up at his ceiling in the darkness of the room he sat in, thinking to something a little more to what seemed to be a more simpler time in which he couldn't quite remember it though. It had to do with his childhood, it seemed like such a long time ago as if it were hundreds of years, yet it had only been possibly just twenty or so years, more or less, give or take? His childhood wasn't the best, it was something of a terrible thing and time for him, though his life now was pretty shitty to. But back then it was a constant game between either getting beat up or fighting back, fueling the spark of hatred inside him. And the game went on, it was his entire life now, but it was worse. It was now, Life Vs. Death and of course he had to be apart of it whether he liked it or now. All of it was a living hell for him.

His life was a constant field of battle, his aura was something that reeked of death and everything related to homicide, some even called him the King of Murder. It wasn't his fault, it was the world's. As far as his childhood had gone, he was just one of those unlucky punks who didn't have much good memories to get along by, till one day he got picked off due to him being "special" and then threw into a new life. It still involved much violence, more actually. His life had turned from just a spark of burning hatred to hell and he couldn't do anything but go along with it. He was forced to do it, keep going, never die, he was too important. Of course he wanted to make his own choices but what would be the point? They would just find another way to pull him back and continue.

No matter how much he thought about it, his mind was always on something that had to either related to his missions or killing. There wasn't really a simpler time was there? It all had to do with how he had been treated in life, how things would go and how they planned to go. He never really had a choice from the beginning now did he? Life was unfair, that's how the saying went, that you can never get what you want unless you work for it? Well he's worked for it enough and he'll still never get it. He could put a bullet in his head and walk out the front doors like it had never happened all because of them. He was nothing but a tool for them to use as they please, they didn't care about the condition he was in or whatever he thought as long as he was useable and useful they had nothing they wanted to hear from him.

Everything in his mind was nothing but a lost track of memories. Nothing made sense, sometimes he would wake up from a nightmare of a previous mission or something horrible happening in a future one. Sometimes he couldn't sleep from overthinking and he would enter the main HQ looking like crap and unable to even walk straight from the lack of rest. It didn't help that he was also getting progressively worse. Medicine was something he didn't approve himself using, but it was sometimes a last resort method to get some sleep. He was placed in rough unbalanced daily life routines, lacking in rest, put through missions and tossed around like a rag doll. Sometimes he wondered what the hell was going to happen to him in the near or far out future that would kill him forever unable to give him life again and he would laugh because he wouldn't be their tool anymore. He'd be happy that way, and he knew it would be the first time he would actually be happy about something.

Because even though his memories was nothing but broken shards of glass shattered to the far off edged and unreachable places of a room he didn't need them. He would forget them. They couldn't be replaced, no, but sure as hell he go make some new ones, if he lives to see a better day that is. It would be a shame if he didn't. Very stupid in fact if he didn't but of course he would, he always does and always will. So fuck everything else, all he needs is one memory, he can forget the rest and they can go down and burn in hell for all he cared for. All he needed to know was who he was and what he is. And that's easy.

He's a murderer, but most of all, he's not just any murderer. He's Hank J. Wimbleton.


End file.
